


First Date Protocol

by inkvoices



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Community: be_compromised, F/M, First Dates, maybe just be yourself?, trying to live up to expectations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22033999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkvoices/pseuds/inkvoices
Summary: Natasha is familiar with reality failing to live up to her expectations, which is why she tries not to have expectations in the first place.She especially tries not to have expectations when it comes to dating.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 9
Kudos: 73





	First Date Protocol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gsparkle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gsparkle/gifts).



> Belated, finally finished fill for a prompt from **gsparkle** in the be_compromised 2019 promptathon. Beta read by **CloudAtlas** :)

Natasha is familiar with reality failing to live up to her expectations, which is why she tries not to have expectations in the first place. 

She especially tries not to have expectations when it comes to dating. Not that she’s done much of it, but since joining SHIELD there have been a few who’ve asked and she’s been curious enough to say yes. It’s just never ended well, and always after the first date. 

People seem to think that she’ll go easy on them in training afterwards, or want to jump straight into dominating them in complicated kinky sex, or let them brag about ‘taming’ her, or other such stupid shit. Which is to say, Natasha has approached dating with romantic expectations based on SHIELD gossip and movies, but the people who’ve asked her out have approached it with expectations based on her being the Black Widow and on what they think that means. Inter-agency dating isn’t any different and civilian dating is a minefield she doesn’t care enough to cross. All things considered, it’s more fun to play matchmaker for other people.

But ever since Clint asked - and kept asking and she finally said yes - she hasn’t been able to suppress her anticipation for tonight, because this is a date with _Clint_. This is a date with her equal, her partner, her friend. Someone she can seduce marks in front of, break his nose when they spar, strip down next to for decontamination, and none of it changes how they are with each other. He _knows_ her. 

She’d hoped they could add serious flirtation, kissing, and sex to the mix, and still be able to laugh togther and go for pancakes in the morning and, just, be _them_. She’d been excited.

She really should have listened to that cold, rational voice at the back of her head telling her that friendship was more than she could ever have hoped for and that she shouldn’t have pushed her luck, because being on a date with Clint? Is awkward and uncomfortable and she never should have agreed to it.

The funny thing is, Clint _has_ lived up Natasha’s dating expectations. He showed up on time, he brought her flowers, he dressed up for her - in smart grey slacks with a matching waistcoat and a purple shirt open at the collar - and he booked a meal in a nice Italian restaurant. It just hasn’t worked. They’re not used to seeing each other in formal wear outside of a mission and this is the fanciest restaurant they’ve been to together where the goal _isn’t_ to kill someone by the end of the evening. It’s throwing Clint off balance.

He’s also been fighting to be a perfectly polite first date, minding his manners and keeping his hands to himself, but that means he’s so busy watching himself that he can’t settle. He keeps cutting himself off when he thinks a topic of conversation isn’t going to be appropriate, nervously biting at his bottom lip so much it’s close to bleeding, and fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth. 

Natasha misses his bad jokes and she almost wishes he’d start juggling the cutlery, like that time in Bulgaria. She’s tried reaching out to hold his hand, but he’d startled and knocked over his wine glass.

The conversation has been a lost cause from the start. They’ve talked about work a little, obliquely since they’re in a public place. They’ve talked about the food, the wine, the weather. They’re at the point where they’ve started dragging out first date questions - favourite colour, dream holiday destination, downtime activities - but it’s hard to find things to ask about each other that they don’t already know the answer to.

Natasha’s trying to at least enjoy her linguine, but the awkward is turning it sour on her tongue as she watches Clint yet again scramble for something to say.

“Okay,” he mumbles, “um, what’s something you’d like to learn - no, you signed up for the language - ”

Natasha puts down her fork. That’s it, they’ve made it through one agonizing course and she’s calling it. Someone has to put an end to this.

Clint must read something in her eyes, because he leans forward with a flash of desperation. “Okay, no, I have a question: do you know how to get bloodstains off of walls?”

“Yes,” Natasha says flatly, reaching for her wine to finish it off. “Here’s a question for you: do you really think that was an appropriate first date question?”

Clint looks down at their empty plates, the corners of his mouth twisting up into a rueful smile. 

“No, it’s more of a second date question,” he says, the most like himself he’s been all evening, “but the conversation stalled and I panicked.”

“Stalled?” Natasha raises an eyebrow as she pushes away her now empty glass. “Clint, it never took off.”

“I know, I know,” he says with a sigh, rubbing a hand over the top of his head and messing up his hair. “I’m sorry, okay? I just… I’m shit at this.”

“Obviously.” 

She tries reaching out for his hand again, wishing she could make it all okay somehow when she knows he’s put so much effort into this and for her. This time he lets her, threading their fingers together and squeezing slightly.

“I really am sorry, Nat.”

The thing is, saints preserve her, she _likes_ him. Even when he’s a disaster. 

Most of the time he isn’t though and, when she thinks about it, when he’d asked her out she hadn’t really envisioned their _first_ date. She hadn’t thought about getting to know each other or fancy restaurants or Clint in a suit, not that she doesn’t appreciate the view. She’d thought about, just, getting to spend more time together and being allowed to touch. Holding hands on walks, snuggling on the sofa, sneaking kisses in the locker room. Sure, even cleaning bloodstains off walls.

Maybe she just needs to… adjust her expectations.

“Look,” she tries, “how about we just go back to your place, do pizza and a movie - the usual - but then make out after?”

“Yeah?” Clint beams. “Wanna help me get blood off a wall while we’re waiting for the pizza?”

The thing is, Natasha does.


End file.
